A Year in the Life
by Two-Bits
Summary: Rewrite of Year in the Life of the Artful Dodger and Co. Longer chapters, hopefully better chapters. Slash will ensue. Read and Review!


Okay everyone! I'm attempting the 365 day thing again. This is a rewrite of _A Year in the Life of the Artful Dodger and Co. _Longer chapters, more detail and...hopefully they're better. I hope you enjoy! Read and Review!

January 1, New Year's Day

"Dodger, hurry up! It's almost time!" Les squealed excitedly. The Artful Dodger (originally named Aimee Kingery) grinned at her step brother and nimbly bounded over the back of the couch, landing with a soft _fwump!_ in between Les and his older brother, David.

"Don't treat the furniture like a playground!" her mother snapped. Dodger picked up her mug of hot chocolate and smiled, guiltily, at her over the half-melted mini marshmellows.

"Sorry," she said. Her mom just rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the TV. Renee Kingery had married Mayer Jacobs the previous June. Mayer had two sons, Davey (who was the same age as Dodger), Les (who was near ten) and a daughter named Sarah, who was a year older than Davey and Dodger. Renee and Dodger moved in with the Jacobs in August, just in time for Dodger to start school with David, and now it was New Year's Ever. The entire family was crowded on the couch, watching the giant disco ball drop in Times Square. All except Sarah, who was popular and was at a party with her quarterback boyfriend, Jack Kelly (known as "Cowboy" for his sex life, which had something of a reputation).

As the disco ball slowly dropped and changed colors, no one could resist counting down loudly with the chanting crowds on the television. Les was particularly excited about this par, as he loved to count, and frequently showed off how high he could count to (four thousand seventy-nine).

"Seven!...Six!...Five!...Four!...THREE!...TWO!...ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" the family chorused, clinking their mugs of hot chocolate in a toast. Right on cue, the phone rang. Dodger leapt up in a wave of sugar rush and grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR, DODGY!"

Dodger jumped and held the phone a foot away from her ear. Recognizing the voice on the telephone, David got up and joined her in the kitchen.

"_Don't_ call me _Dodgy!_" she growled, goodnaturedly. "Happy New Year, Dutchy! Is Specs there?"

"Of course! He's homeless, remember?" Dodger rolled her eyes. Specs' parents tended to leave him home alone a lot. This time they were on a vacation in the Bahamas.

"Lemme talk to him!"

There was a pause, then: "Hey, Dodgy!"

"Okay, seriously, this 'Dodgy' nonsense has got to stop!" Dodger said irritably. Specs just laughed. "Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Specs agreed.

"So...what've you and Dutchy been up to?" Dodger asked, smirking. David scooted closer to her so he could hear better. Dutchy and Specs were blissfully oblivious to their obvious attraction to one another.

"We've been celebrating with hot chocolate and huge marshmellows!" Specs exclaimed; he had a tendency to get very childlike when he had copious amounts of sugar.

"Hot chocolate, huh?" Dodger mused with a mischievous grin. "With _whipped_ cream?" David clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling his laughter.

"Yes...?"

"AHA!" I knew it!" she cried, jumping on the counter, jubilantly. Davey leaned on the counter on his elbows and Dodger angled the phone so they both could hear.

"What? Knew what?" Specs demanded.

"Specsy, could you be any more oblivious?" Dodger asked, shaking her head.

"_What?_" Specs demanded. "We've just been drinking hot chocolate and eating strawberries--"

"Wait, wait!" Dodger interrupted. "You're eating _strawberries?_"

"How did they get strawberries in _January?_" David wondered aloud. Dodger shushed him.

"Specs, listen to me _very. Carefully_," she said slowly, as if speaking to a two-year-old. "You are alone in the house with Dutchy."

"Yeah...?"

"You have strawberries."

"Yeah...?"

"And whipped cream."

"Dodger, what're you—oh. OH! You think that—It's not like _that!_" Specs stammered. Dodger didn't have to see his face to know that he was blushing bright red. David had his fist practically shoved in his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"Yeah, uh-huh," Dodger said, unconvinced. The over timer went off. "Well, Specsy, the brownies are calling to me so I gotta go. I'll see you later. And _wear protection!_" She hung up before Specs could stutter out an indignant response. Immediately she and David burst out laughing.

"Any luck?" David asked, without much hope. Dodger rolled her eyes.

"Nope. Still in denial," she said. She slid off the counter, grabbed a butter knife out of the drawer, and stuck it in the center of the pan of brownies. When she pulled it out, it was covered in gooey chocolate. "Not done," she announced, closing the oven door and setting the timer for another five minutes. "We have _got_ to do something about those two!" David nodded in agreement.

"Well, Specs' parents are gone for another week, so maybe they'll figure it out," he said optimistically. Dodger scoffed.

"Puh-_lease_. They haven't figured it out in two years. I doubt they'll start any time soon."

"True," David sighed.

January 1, New Year's Day

Specs put down the receiver, still blushing. He frowned at what Dodger had said; everyone was always teasing him about that...

Choosing to ignore it (_again_), Specs returned to the kitchen. Dutchy was sitting on a stool, absentmindedly sucking on a strawberry.

"Have a nice chat with Dodgy?" Dutchy asked, finally biting the strawberry. Specs looked away, embarrassed.

"Uh, yeah," he muttered. He took his glasses off and cleaned them nervously with a handkerchief he kept in his back pocket. He looked up at the familiar spraying noise and realized that Dutchy was spraying whipped cream directly into his mouth. Specs turned a deep shade of red again, and his stomach did a flip. "Let's watch a movie," he said quickly, glad that Dutchy was oblivious to his blushing; he didn't want to share the embarrassing conversation with him.

"Okay! What do you want to watch?" Dutchy asked, leading the way to the family room, whipped cream still in hand. He folded his legs Indian-style on the floor in front of the cabinet that held the DVD's.

"Uh, I don't really care," Specs said, desperate for a distraction. He quickly scanned the DVD's and named the first one that caught his eye, namely because it was in all caps. "How 'bout CAMP?"

"I've never seen it," Dutchy said, pulling it off the shelf. "It's my sister's. She said it's really good though." Dutchy's sister, Aleid, was three years older than him and a sophomore in a college in Quebec. Dutchy put the movie in the DVD player and sat down on the couch next to Specs. It turned out that not only was CAMP a musical, one of the main characters, Michael, was gay. Upon realizing this, Specs turned scarlet again. This time, Dutchy noticed.

"You okay, Specs? You're flushed!" Specs nodded weakly, but he didn't feel okay. He had a bad headache and he felt uncomfortably hot. He tugged at his hoodie pathetically, and Dutchy pulled it over his head. Specs' thin white tee shirt was sticking to his chest with a sheen of cold sweat. Dutcy pressed his hand against Specs' forehead. "Wow, you're really burning up!" Dutchy exclaimed. "Stay there, I'll go get a thermometer. Specs nodded and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He could hear Dutchy upstairs, slamming drawers in the bathroom. A minute later, Dutchy was racing back down the stairs. "Here, open," he ordered. Specs opened his mouth and Dutchy placed a thermometer under his tongue. They both waited patiently in silence. The thermometer beeped loudly. Dutchy examined it and let out a yelp. "Geeziz, Specs! You're at 100.2!" He got up and disappeared into the kitchen for a minute, then returned with two Ibuprofen and a glass of water. "Tke this, it's supposed to reduce fevers." Specs did as he was told.

"What's wrong with me, Dutchy?" he groaned.

"You just have a fever, is all," Dutchy assured him.

"I wanna diiiieeeeee..." Specs groaned. Dutchy chuckled at his friend's dramatics.

"What, never had a fever before?" he joked. Specs didn't answer. Dutchy's eyes widened. "Wait, _have_ you?"

"I don't _get_ sick!" Specs pouted. "You know my mom; my house is like a giant clean room." Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"_Great_," he muttered. "When do your parents get back?"

"Not for another week," Specs replied, holding the glass to his aching forehead.

"And Mom doesn't get back until the fourth. _Fabulous_," Dutchy muttered. "Okay, well, just call me Dr. Dutchy then, I guess."

"Should I be worried?" Specs asked, worriedly. Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the faith, _jerk_," he said, pushing Specs' dark hair off his sweaty forehead. "But I'll call Race, just to make sure I'm doing everything right," he added, picking up the phone. He punched in Race's number.

_Ring...Ring...Rin--_

"Hullo?" said a very sleepy Race. Dutchy winced; it was nearly one in the morning, and Racetrack had a very strict nine hour sleep policy.

"Uh, hey Race, it's Dutchy."

"Ugh, Dutchy, don't you know what _time_ it is?" Race demanded.

"Yeah, sorry. Listen, Specs has a fever, and Mom's out of town, so I'm stuck playing doctor. Any advice?"

"Yeah, give him some fucking Ibuprofen and go to _sleep_. I don't make house calls until after noon," Race snapped. "I'll come over tomorrow. Or today, actually, since it's _one _in the _morning!_" With an unintelligible snarl in Italian, Race hung up. Dutchy rolled his eyes and put the phone back.

"Well, Race said the exact same thing, more or less, so let's get you to bed," Dutchy said. "He's going to stop by tomorrow. Today," he corrected. "C'mon, up you get."

He helped Specs stumble to his room. He collapsed on Dutchy's bed with a miserable groan. Dutchy shrugged to himself and pulled off Specs' jeans, leaving him in boxers which, for some reason, had lobsters on them. Since they'd been friends for twelve years, this wasn't the first time he'd seen Specs in his boxers. Dutchy changed into his pajamas and collapsed onto the bed next to Specs.

January 1, New Year's Day

"Hey, Dutchster," Race greeted when Dutchy opened the front door. It was, indeed, after noon.

"Hey," Dutchy said, relieved that Race had arrived.

"How is he?" Race asked, following Dutchy into the house. Dutchy shrugged.

"He's asleep upstairs."

"In your _room?_" Racetrack guessed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Dutchy glared at him.

"_Yes_," he said defiantly. "I loaded him up with Ibuprofen, but no reduction yet." Race opened the door to Dutchy's room. Specs was lying on top of the covers, in a white tee shirt and lobster boxers. Race raised an eyebrow at Dutchy and grinned.

"Lobster boxers? So what exactly were you two doing before he got sick?"

"We were _watching_ a _movie_," Dutchy glowered.

"Uh-huh," Race teased. "Come on, wake up Specsy! Dr. Race is here to see you!" he said loudly, kicking the mattress. Specs moaned loudly and put his hands over his eyes.

"Go...away..." he mumbled. Racetrack picked up the thermometer off of the bedside table.

"Open," he ordered, pressing it into his mouth. He waited a few seconds until the thermometer beeped. He glanced at it. "101.9."

"It went up!" Dutchy said, dismayed.

"Yeah, but don't worry. Fevers can be weird like that. With any luck, this is just a twenty-four hour thing. Keep giving him Ibuprofen and it should break soon."

"Okay," Dutchy said, following Race downstairs.

"And he might start throwing up, so be careful about what you feed him. And don't make out with him; you might catch it," Race snickered. Dutchy punched him in the arm.

"Shut up!"

Race just laughed and Dutchy slammed the door behind him.

January 1, New Year's Day

"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Dodger asked as Racetrack slid into the booth at Waffle House. Race rolled his eyes and snatched the slice of chocolate crème pie that was waiting for him.

"Still one hundred percent in denial," he said. "_But_ Specs _was_ in his boxers," he added.

"ooh, what _kind?_" Dodger asked eagerly. Race smirked.

"Black, with _lobsters_ on them."

"_Lobsters?_" Dodger exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. "How un-sexy!"

"But strangely Specs-like," Davey mused. "He's weird like that."

"How's he going to get into Dutchy's pants when he looks like a dork?" Dodger said impatiently.

"Nah, Dutchy _likes_ dorks," Race said. Davey rolled his eyes.

"Not everyone's as horny as yout guys," he said. "Maybe Dutchy actually _likes_ Specs."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to get _laid_," Dodger said impatiently.

"Yeah, Dave, not everyone's asexual, like _you_," RACE ADDED.

"Actually," Dodger interrupted before David could reply, "Davey has a secret loo-ove!" David blushed.

"Ooh!" Race exclaimed, intrigued. "Come on, who is it?" Davey shook his head emphatically.

"No _way!_ I'm not telling you two! You'll just try to set me up or something!"

"Exactly, Davey! You need a little action in your life!" Dodger said, patting him on the back. "It'll help you loosen up."

"Absolutely not!" David replied emphatically. Race grinned wickedly. Race grinned wickedly.

"Don't worry, we'll get it out of him," he said. Davey glared at them both.

"Fat. Chance."


End file.
